To Forget
by E. Gray
Summary: Yuna reflects in Bevelle before her address to Spira. Her thoughts and regrets regarding about the way things have ended up.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X or any of its characters. The series was created by Hironobu Sakaguchi, the characters designed and created by Tetsuya Normura, all of which are licensed and owned by Square-Enix. I am just borrowing the characters to amuse myself when I don't feel like working…no money was made in the creation or distribution of this fanfiction.

"**To Forget"**

The sea never changed. It swelled and sank, forever rolling and murmuring in its restless tongue. Split shafts of sunlight flit against the seething surface, shivering over the cobalt swells like pieces of broken mirror. The sea never slept, it merely continued its lethargic belly dance. It sounded the same in Bevelle as it did when she'd listen to it at night in Besaid. The sea at night, the morning rain—these were things to which she had bid farewell, only to find herself embraced in them once more. She wondered if she had ever truly accepted death—or if her mind was somehow sure she would be back to hear the thick roar of the high tide, smell the damp soil, walk the worn stone steps.

Yuna shifted her weight to her toes for a moment before rocking back, swaying with the heavy emptiness in her chest. Funny how emptiness could possess such weight. It wouldn't go away, that odd feeling, and she knew that maybe it never would. One day, perhaps, she would learn to ignore it. How was it that he had faded to only a cold feeling in her chest?

The heels of her boots made a hollow click on the wooden dock, the jade tinted water gurgling beneath in response. Bevelle was a beautiful city, but she kept her back to it. All she wanted to see was the sea—and she still had some time before she had to make her address. What she was going to say, she hadn't a clue. What she said didn't really matter. Spira didn't need words anymore to soothe it. Yuna drew in a slow breath, the humid sea air pressing against her face with the oppressiveness of velvet.

No. He wasn't just a cold feeling in her chest. He was…everything now. There would not be a day for the rest of her life that she wouldn't wake up thinking about him, knowing that Spira was free from its endless spiral because he was so stubborn. He was the joy that reigned over Spira, the calm that would never sink into chaos and death. He was the end of the spiral and she loved him.

Tidus. That familiar feel of his name felt on her lips. She loved how he walked, how easily he smiled, how freely he spoke to her.

A breeze rushed across her mostly bare back, running chilled fingers through her cinnamon hair and lovingly down her arms. The ethereal touch of wind left her feeling only more alone when it dwindled into the still warmth of the spring sunlight. Yuna bit her bottom lip gently. She wouldn't cry again. At least, not now, not when she had to speak in front of all of Bevelle. What would she say? She still couldn't think of anything, and at this rate, if she said anything she really felt, Spira would be a little less to be happy about.

All she had ever wanted was to save her world from the ubiquitous terror that gripped it; that held it suspended in a stasis of fear and faith. But now that Sin was gone—not just sleeping in the dark corner of Spira's collective mind—all she could think of what that another world had been ultimately destroyed to save her own. His machina city that never slept—

Zanarkand. He always talked of it as if it weren't a moss covered heap of broken streets and towers, a primordial metropolis that held only ghosts, too static to think of as a bustling city. She'd known, even from the first moment she'd been aware of him, that he was somehow very important. She never doubted he was from Zanarkand. Not the ruin, the great city that she could only imagine. She'd been drawn to him from moment she saw him standing in the temple, waiting for her outside the Chamber of the Fayth in Besaid. That feeling had only grown stronger, until it was so heavy in her chest that she felt dizzy from it. Ironic how the emptiness that now replaced that shivering amusement felt so much heavier. She felt an imbalance, an injustice somewhere that she felt she could only pin on her own chest.

It had only been two days. Two days since she watched him begin to disappear before her eyes. Two days since she fell straight through him. Two days since he'd just faded away into the sky. She hadn't thought to ask how, for she had most of the pieces of the puzzle but had not yet attempted to unite them into the truth. He was part of the dream, the dream the Fayth had told him would fade away. He had hidden it from her. Perhaps it was better that he had. She only wished she knew exactly why, and the pieces didn't quite fit together. The massive Fayth being used atop Mount Gagazet, the summoning that Yu Yevon lived for, and Tidus' mysteriously intact machina city-- where the twinkling city lights glowed like a opium addict's sunset into the darkening sky. She saw it all in her head, where she walked the glittering streets, gripping his hand and smiling with him, watching the rose kissed sunrise as the city lights blinked out one by one—just as they had planned. Such a peaceful existence.

The girl closed her eyes, summoning his gentle spirit to surface. It was supposed to be her gift, after all, though there were no more aimless spirits to summon. The great Aeons were no more, and those who were unsent had left Spira to the living. But what of his spirit? He had once had a body. A body cannot be without a spirit. It was a teaching of Yevon. Of course, Yevon was now a skeleton of a religion. Just a dread born collection of superstition spoon fed to the world for centuries. A new religion would be born of its ashes, she knew. Until then, she would say no more prayers, sing no more hymns. She would simply say goodbye.

They had held a small funeral on the slow journey returning from Zanarkand Ruins. Rikku had cried, Wakka had stared sadly on as if he had lost his brother all over again. Lulu's respectful stoicism had never cracked. There were no prayers said, for they meant nothing, especially to those for whom they were meant.

That night, when she was alone, she cried. She had cried like she knew Lulu must have cried when Chappu was taken away. She had seethed into her pillow until it was damp against her face, sobbed until her stomach muscles ached and her eyes burned. She cried until no more tears came, until the laments that wracked her body choked in her throat and the physical exertion of her sorrow gave way to fatigue. Then she dreamed of him, and in waking, wondered how it was that he could only live in the dreams of others. Now he lived in hers.

Her thoughts dwelled on the faded Zanarkand. How could it have all been a dream? How could he have been unreal his entire life? He had lived a life in Zanarkand—he had his own thoughts, his wishes, his loves and hates. There were thousands of dream people living in their dream city and never knowing they were never meant to be. Never knowing that they were only part of a memory. Having served its purpose, it was crumbled, and Tidus accepted death in her place. He accepted it for the martyred city that just dwindled into shadow. Gone for an eternity. Of course, she remembered what the Fayth had told them: There's no such thing as eternity if you end it, is there? She supposed eternity was as fleeting as a man's life.

A miserable prickle shivered over her. This was not how she had pictured life after the real defeat of Sin, once he had talked her into believing she would survive it. She had imagined such happiness, prosperity—perhaps that is what the rest of Spira felt. He had said he'd stay with her, always. But he left her. Had he known all along that he couldn't keep the promise? Or had it been an ugly truth thrust upon him? She couldn't imagine him taking it very well. She felt hollow. All because of him. She perhaps should have been angry at him. For coming to Spira at all—but then, without him—would she still have obtained the final Aeon from Yunalesca? Could she have chosen someone to become her Fayth? She was surprised her father had been able to choose—but he didn't know. He never knew what happened to the Aeon once it was summoned and he was killed. If he had just known, if Sir Jecht had been as stubborn as his son…

She could not be angry with him for saving her life, and everyone else's. There was no anger. Only gratitude. Love. Longing to see him, touch him, hear the amused chuckle in his voice once again.

The idea wrenched something deep in her abdomen. The sea hushed her welling tears as another sharp breeze whistled lightly against her cheek.

Whistled. Yuna closed her eyes.

She remembered whistling to him in Macalania, just to see if he'd come running like he said he would. And he had. He'd turned on his heel to find her standing right behind him. He'd smiled. He was a dream. No wonder he had practically dropped from the sky, just in time for an epic pilgrimage that was now only an epic memory, like the recollection of a long novel. He was just what Spira needed. When he was frustrated, he shouted instead of prayed. She'd known all along that he was important. Important. That didn't seem like the right word at all.

The sea swelled and rolled. It never changed. She could be looking at the sea in Besaid, or in Zanarkand, and it would look the same as it did to her now. The vague sedative of its subliminal yawning and lazy giggles pulled at her. The great goddesses of peace beckoned from the blue, deep in its light flecked flux.

Yuna hesitated, then rose her right hand to her mouth. She inserted her fingers between her lips, like her had taught her. She whistled. The shrill puncture of the ocean's narcotic hiss cut the sky like glass shards. It was a nice sound, so loud and powerful without being forceful. It reminded her of Tidus. She whistled again, blowing harder against the curve of her index and thumb before drawing in her breath just as quickly. She closed her eyes as she blew, imagining him thundering down the wooden dock toward her, or maybe surfacing from the glimmering water and shaking out his blond hair. She wasn't sure if she really believed he would come. She didn't know how he could. But she could still whistle. She hadn't forgotten, and she wouldn't forget to whistle for him. It was proof that he had existed. Perhaps there was no corporeal evidence that he had ever lived outside of a dream, but she would teach the sea how he had taught her. Would he come if she whistled loud enough?

The clatter of beads, the bell-like jingle of belts, the hollow clack of footsteps on the long wooden dock. Yuna's heart seized for a breath.

"Yuna." Lulu's dry diction. "It's time." Her footsteps continued. She had already turned and headed back. That was Lulu. The stoic woman knew when it was time for duty.

The girl did not turn yet. She stared at the sea. It took no notice of her, or that the whistling had stopped. It shifted and murmured, always chuckling dementedly at the same joke. It never changed, and yet it was always changing. It slept on, dreaming its restless rolling dream.

Yuna turned slowly from the blue, the hanging fabric of her clothing catching the gentle gales as she jogged down the moisture leaden pine toward Lulu, who stood waiting on the grass. She smiled lightly, the breeze ruffling her dark bangs.

"Are you ready?"

"No. I'm…not sure what I'm going to say."

"You should have been thinking about that." Lulu's scolding was welcome. She had been thinking about it, hadn't she? She knew she had. But all she could think of was that she didn't know what to say. That it didn't really matter anyway.

"I was thinking about it…"

"You were whistling." More scolding.

Yuna's eyes dropped slightly, not so much in shame but in exhaustion. "Yes, I know..."

Lulu began to turn, the jingle of her heavy leather dress ringing and deadening against itself before she froze midstride. "Are you coming?"

"Lulu…" the young girl folded her hands apprehensively, choosing her words carefully didn't seem to sugarcoat her question at all. "What did you do…when Chappu died?"

The woman's stare was blank. Silent. She lifted her head slightly then lowered it a bit, still without a word. It was as if she didn't know the answer to the question. "I cried."

Yuna stared quietly. She had said it so plainly. As though there was nothing complicated about the feeling.

"I cried until it hurt. And when the pain dulled…I cried again. But only…when I had the leisure to cry." She paused. "Yuna." The tall dark woman reached out a hand from the long heavy sleeves of her clothing. "I know it hurts. I know because I still feel it. If you loved him…like I loved Chappu…it won't go away. You shouldn't _let_ it go away, Yuna…" Lulu took her in her arms, a rueful smile on her lips. "I'm sorry. Wakka misses him like his own brother. I don't think anyone could have seen this result coming…maybe not even Sir Auron. I guess we'll never know about that…"

A tear snaked down her Yuna's alabaster cheek. A sob knotted in the empty clench in her chest and she swallowed it tightly, denying it its cathartic release. "Chappu…" she whispered, then paused, drawing in a long, tremulous breath and saying nothing for a long while in Lulu's embrace, just listening to the call of the gulls and the static roar of the far off waves crashing in on themselves, spiraling back to their origin, their majestic, short lifetimes now memories as well. "Always remember him, Lulu."

Lulu's hands found her shoulders as she drew back, eyes wet but smiling. Her voice caught, just a bit. "I could never forget. Is that why you were whistling? To show that you wouldn't forget?"

Yuna shook her head, a bittersweet twitch to her lips. She wiped the tear tracks away. She knew she would cry again later, but she had an address to make; and she knew what she would tell them all. "No. I could never forget." She whispered, turning her face back to the sea. "It was so I won't forget…to remember him."


End file.
